


This is How We Say Au Revoir

by Telaryn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Goodbye Sex, Goodbyes, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 02, Sexual Content, Spoilers, Submission, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye and Coulson prove that they can't be alone in a room together without getting into trouble (or each other's pants).</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is How We Say Au Revoir

_As if his feelings for Skye weren’t complicated enough._

Coulson went to lean against the doorframe and immediately began thinking about his mutilated arm. Thinking about it led to wondering about how much he should be compensating for it, which inevitably led to worrying about whether or not he was _overcompensating_ for it.

“You can just come in, you know. As long as the door’s open, nobody’s going to say anything.” Startled, he looked up into Skye’s dark eyes. There was no judgment in her gaze, but he couldn’t stop the heat flaring across his cheeks from being called out on his awkwardness.

“We should probably do something about that,” he said, accepting her invitation even as he tried to remember what normal felt like. “I don’t think we’re the worst kept secret in the Playground, but I’d like to make things official before that happens.” Picking his way around the strangely ordered piles littering the floor, he made his way to the tiny room’s only chair.

Once he was seated, he realized Skye was watching him with an expression gone suddenly strange. “That sounds disturbingly formal,” she said, sinking slowly to perch on the edge of her cot. A half-folded t-shirt was forgotten in one hand.

Startled, Coulson replayed the last handful of seconds in his mind and saw immediately where he’d gone off his game. _Fucked that one up,_ he thought ruefully, ducking his head for a moment. “Sorry,” he said, looking up again when he could trust himself. “I really did mean to find a better time to talk to you about that.”

That got a smile out of her. “You mean sometime other than an hour before I leave here for who knows how long on my secret mission?”

Her sense of humor had kept both of them steady in the days since Afterlife; Coulson was able to meet her grin with one of his own. “Yes, something exactly like that.” Exhaling softly as visions of the forms he was going to have to fill out swam in his mind he continued, “You’re not some dirty little secret, Skye. I don’t want people to use what they think they know about us to undermine your new position.”

Skye laughed, but he could hear it tremble around the edges. “You know that stuff doesn’t bother me. I’ll totally follow your lead.” A small shudder rippled across her skin as she seemed to suddenly remember the task at hand – the task he’d interrupted. Coming back to herself, she shoved the t-shirt into her duffle and reached for a pile of silk and lace at the foot of her cot.

 _Months…_ Coulson thought, mentally sorting out the different colors and remembering how she looked in each of them. “You know the whole point of leaving the door open was to prove we could be alone in a room together and behave ourselves,” Skye said, laughter coloring her tone even though she was pointedly _not_ looking at him.

“Right,” Coulson agreed, licking suddenly dry lips as the lingerie disappeared into her duffel. “Besides…it’s not like we have time to get into _too_ much trouble.” A sense memory of the two of them naked and fucking, Skye’s mouth on his scar as he thrust into her over and over flared fever-bright in his memory, making his breath catch in his throat.

“Yeah, this is gonna suck,” he muttered, turning towards Skye’s desk to distract himself. Her laptop was open, uploading a series of video files to a secure cloud drive. “What’s this?” he asked, reading down the list of file names.

“Movies,” Skye said automatically. He heard her shift behind him as she continued packing. “And some shows I’ve been wanting to catch up on.”

Coulson read down the list. Like Skye herself it was an unusually diverse mix of genres and quality that ran the gamut from “Manos, the Hand of Fate” to “Schindler’s List”. One of the folder names caught his eye and he couldn’t help feeling a small twinge of disappointment. “Truffaut?” he asked, looking back at her for confirmation. “Really?”

“It’s not uploading that folder, is it?” Skye asked, scrambling off the cot. Coulson moved back out of the way automatically – giving her space to check what she was doing. Her shoulders slumped after a moment and he could sense her relief. “I’ve only got fifteen gigs allocated for this trip,” she said, moving back a step and crossing her arms over her chest. “And what’s wrong with Truffaut?” she asked, her tone suddenly defensive. “You have something against the French New Wave?”

“A lot, actually,” Coulson admitted. Not many people knew that he’d flirted with the idea of going to film school in college. Before he’d shifted to political science he’d ended up with two semesters’ study of Godard, Truffaut and their cronies that had nearly destroyed his faith in humanity. “’Jules et Jim’ is the only one of Truffaut’s films that doesn’t leave me with the desire to throw things, but hey – to each his own,” he finished – raising his hands in a conversational surrender.

His own fascination with reality television _was_ probably the worst kept secret in the Playground. Coulson knew that artistically he wasn’t in any position to throw stones – if Skye enjoyed the world of art house cinema, he needed to just keep his opinions to himself.

He was absolutely not expecting the smile that suddenly lit her face. “Me too,” she said. “Miles always acted like Truffaut was some kind of genius, and I never could understand why.” She half-sat, half-leaned on the corner of her desk. “The movies didn’t make me want to throw things,” she added with a small shrug. “Mostly they just made me sleepy.”

“If you get the time,” he said, relaxing somewhat now that he understood ‘Miles’ was responsible for her exposure to that world, “you should read Truffaut’s 1954 essay on auteurism. When you compare it to the films of the New Wave, it’s a brilliant example of how theory can absolutely fail in execution.”

He made a small, surprised sound low in his throat as she surged forward and kissed him – hands braced on the arms of his chair as she pressed him back into the seat. After a second, he reached up for her; his good hand tangling in the fall of her hair, his other arm brought up short by the sling.

“Hang on,” Skye murmured, slipping free and lifting his sling’s shoulder strap over his head. “Put both arms behind your back,” she went on, catching his gaze and holding it as she freed his injured arm from the rest of its support.

He was suddenly warm all over for reasons that had nothing to do with embarrassment. They were only just beginning to explore a mutual interest in mild forms of dominance and submission, but he already knew that it hit all of his buttons in all the right way when Skye decided to take charge. “I, um…did tell you that you give orders very well, didn’t I?” he managed, shifting himself until he was positioned the way she wanted.

“You did,” she agreed, her smile almost predatory now. Coulson’s gaze ticked briefly down to her cleavage, but he managed to resist the urge to take a mouthful of the sensitive flesh between his teeth and tease a moan out of her.

Barely.

“Eyes up, Director,” she said, her tone light and teasing. Once he had obeyed she said, “Your job here is to sit back and let me drive, okay?”

He nodded, relieved at how easy it was to put himself over into her hands. “Can we close the door at least?”

Skye casually flicked one of her hands behind her. The door swung shut as smoothly and easily as if someone had physically pushed it closed. “I want you to listen to me, Coulson,” she said firmly, drawing his attention back to her. “If we had time I would do this differently, but we don’t. This is a promise of everything you want to talk about and everything I want to spend days doing with you when I get back. Understand?”

“You don’t want me in my head,” he said – grateful that she was willing to take what little time they had to acknowledge his insecurity about his injury. “If this is going where I think it is, I promise you that’s not going to be a problem.”

Shifting, Skye reached down and began undoing his belt. “Communication is key. Somebody really smart and incredibly sexy taught me that.”

She had him undone in a flash, her clever fingers freeing his half-hard cock as she went to her knees. Coulson twitched as she began to stroke him, instinct driving him to reach for her, even as physics kept his arms securely pinned between his back and the chair. “Skye,” he moaned softly, closing his eyes and drawing a deep, shuddering breath as she took him into her mouth and caressed the length of his cock with her tongue.

Her hands clenched possessively on his thighs as she worked him, starting slow and gradually setting fire licking out across his nerves and up through his body. Coulson opened his eyes again as his body began to tremble – gripped by the pleasure Skye was stirring up inside him. He made a few more half-hearted attempts to free his arms, but he could already feel himself coming apart under Skye’s skillful ministrations.

Coulson’s orgasm, when it hit, was hard and fast – a thick wash of pleasure that bowed his back and whitened his vision. He only barely remembered to swallow his cries of relief; the last thing he wanted was to ruin the moment by drawing attention to what they were doing. Skye milked him as hard as she could, drawing out his climax until red and black spots began to pop in his vision.

“God, Skye,” he moaned, shuddering uncontrollably under her touch. Her hands steadied him as he rode out the last of the aftershocks.

When Coulson could trust himself again, he leaned forward just enough to free his arms. He instinctively reached for her with both hands; tensing as his injured arm touched her hair and he remembered. Skye, without missing a beat, turned and softly kissed the tender, healing flesh. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said, looking up at him while she tucked him away and fixed his wardrobe. “Not with me. Not _ever_.”

A million stupid platitudes flashed through Coulson’s mind, but in the end all he could do as she sat back on her heels was lean forward until they were close enough to kiss and murmur, “Thank you.”


End file.
